


God Above

by distantattraction



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen, I'll tell you right now it's not shippy and it doesn't end well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1199922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantattraction/pseuds/distantattraction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts in whispers, questions asked under their breath. Then it changes to praise, then outright prayer. They call you a god. You are the one who puts their dreams together, who decides who is worthy of happiness, who builds up their towns and destroys the undeserving.</p>
<p>They call you a god, so you become one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God Above

You can’t remember the last time you set foot on the ground except to rest. You haven’t walked since you were a child; you learned to fly before you learned to run.

Which is all well and good, since you fly faster than any man can run. It used to help you get out of trouble. Now, flying helps you start it.

Here beside the mountaintops, nothing can hurt you. The monsters of the land are simple to eradicate. A sword strike here, an arrow there, and the land is clear before you even notice you’ve run out of targets.

You don’t even realize what you’ve done for the people of this land until you hear them mention you.

It starts in whispers, questions asked under their breath. Then it changes to praise, then outright prayer. They call you a god. You are the one who puts their dreams together, who decides who is worthy of happiness, who builds up their towns and destroys the undeserving.

They call you a god, so you become one.

They become your playthings, nothing more. You pick a few to call favorites and give them every resource they could possibly ask for. You pick a few more to label undesirable, and you haunt their homes, flooding their fields and letting lightning strike their doorsteps.

You stand far above their heads because that is where you belong, where you have always belonged. Here among the clouds you are unreachable. You are untouchable.

They fear your power. They wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you. That’s what you’ve told yourself for weeks as you watch them plan their rebellions, as you sabotage their revolts, as you take their leaders in the night. It’s so easy to snuff out their lives, to break their fragile bodies and tenuous plans.

They’ve started to barricade their doors and windows when they retreat into their homes. It’s almost endearing that they think that will work.

For a time, you leave them to it. It’s a game to you, nothing more. and crushing the leaders early begins to bore you. You let them have a month to themselves.

When you come back, two leaders have emerged. They’re familiar figures, although they do not belong to this land--the spaceman with the eyes that glow blue (blue of the sort you wish you could paint the skies) and the dwarf with the fiery beard and the fiery temper.

This is a new challenge, a new level they’ve added to the game. You appreciate that; it will be fun to learn how to play them. The rules are the same, but the pieces have changed.

To your delight, you discover them to be far more capable than anyone you’ve yet faced. They struggle with their ineptitude at times--often enough that you feel any worry you had about them drift away--but they have friends who support them. There is the scientist, the farmer, the businessman; between them all, they actually manage to construct a forcefield you cannot immediately break through.

Your new toys impress you.

They impress you so much that when they start to break out of your control, you pretend you’re letting them do it. You _let_ them plan beyond your knowledge, you _let_ them keep their secrets behind doors you can’t open and walls you can’t break down. Not that you tried--those bruises on your knuckles have nothing to do with that.

No attempt at revolution has ever done more than give these people false hope. This one will be no different.

You feel shame as you realize you cannot convince yourself you think these words for any reason other than that you are concerned.

The day comes when they call you. The words they use to summon your presence are those of prayers, but their tone is anything but reverent. You bring stormclouds with you when you go, casting lightning in your wake.

They do not tremble when thunder roars around them.

You don’t know what the contraption they’ve managed to rig together is. Science was never your strong suit; you never needed it to do what you wanted. There was never anything that could stop you, not even natural law.

Whatever it is, you look down to watch the spaceman stand on the platform. The scientist pulls a lever, and the thing comes to life in a cacophony of whirring gears and rumbling engines. The platform shakes below the spaceman before it launches him up into the air. The arc of his flight peaks at your level.

There is no succeeding descent. He hovers before you, smiling as he unsheathes the sword from his back. You watch as he takes up a fighting stance, his eyes lighting up. They don’t just flash, they glow, their light pure and sustained. This interests you, as does the ring on his finger and the boots on his feet, which you suspect aid him in his ascension.

You’d like to just keep looking at him, but he doesn’t wait before he attacks.

You haven’t had to fight in years, and he’s honed his skills on monster after monster for most of his life. His strikes are more elegant than your dodges. He catches you once, and you gasp as you feel the fabric of your sleeve opening under his blade. You touch the cut with your hand, and your fingers come away bloody.

He smiles as you look into his face, unable to hide your shock. You haven’t seen your own blood since you were a child.

Encouraged by your failure, he attacks again. You grow more desperate as you fly around him, but adrenaline just fuels his skill. He darts around you, flight coming just as easily to him as it did you.

Your dance ends as many do, with his hand on your shoulder and your faces close enough that you are willing to call it intimate. Those eyes of his are more blue than anything you’ve ever seen. You wish now that you’d taken the time to make an ally out of this one, to keep him as your pet so you could look into those eyes whenever you want.

You look into them now, but it’s hard to focus when you can feel the tip of his sword pressing lightly into your stomach.

He looks fiercely into your face, jaw set. The humor is gone from him, replaced by grim determination. He puts pressure on the blade, and you feel it slip into your flesh.

As the blade digs deep into your chest, skating past your ribs to pierce your heart, you see the spaceman’s lips move. His voice rings through your darkening mind, words following you into the abyss.

_You are no god._

Ah yes, of course.

How foolish of you to have forgotten.

You don’t feel the air rushing past you when your body falls. You’re dead long before you hit the ground.


End file.
